


Retribution

by hawkeyesmyguy



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2015-03-09
Packaged: 2018-03-17 02:05:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3511196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hawkeyesmyguy/pseuds/hawkeyesmyguy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a Walking Dead/Avengers crossover with Clint and Natasha teamed up yet again. Sort of. Mostly they have hateful sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Retribution

Clint was wandering through the base just outside of London, his bow held losely in his hand, an arrow already drawn from his quiver. All this blood, even for him it was a lot to see. He'd been sent in to where it all started, the infection; there wasn't much information he had been given other than SHIELD had the assumption that the red room was behind all of this. He didn't even know where to begin, where he was headed or who was still alive. For all he knew, the city could already be overrun with... hell he didn't know what to even call them. Zombies. Never had he expected to be thrown into a situation like this.

"Hawkeye to basecamp. Come in?" He called over the comm in his ear, wiping the blood from his cheek with the back of his hand. He had already killed multiple agents, though technically they were already dead but still they kept coming. "Does anyone read me?" He spoke roughly. It was clear after almost an hour without a response, that it wasn't worth the added effort. He was the last survivor.

It was becoming clear that the biters, shit he still didn't know... were attracted to any sound and calling over the comm was like a dinner bell for these fuckers. He turned suddenly at the reverberating sound of grunts and groans coming from multiple directions. "Oh shit..." He cursed under his breath as a group of about ten of these monsters came limping towards him. The hungrier they were the faster they seemed to be and it was clear that these one's hadn't been getting the meat they so craved. He stumbled as he jogged backwards, his brow furrowing as the features of one biter matched an old partner. James. Someone he'd worked with a few times. He raised his bow, pulling the string back and firing at him, straight between the eyes. He was learning, headshots were the only way to stop them. The archer pulled himself up into the rafters of the building, the place he felt most comfortable.

One by one he took out all of his attackers. His breath was coming fast, trying desperately to calm himself, he wasn't trained for this kind of thing. He exhaled slowly, steadying himself and leaping from his hideaway, glancing around every body on the floor as he collected his arrows.

Clint cleared out the top level, the research facility and though he wasn't the most tech-savvy agent, he knew enough about SHIELDs programs to find whatever he needed by a simple search. He went through the past day or so of data and quickly discovered that one of the names on his hit list, Natalia Romanova, was discovered to be one of the names given behind this operation. "Well Miss Romanova... where are you hiding?" He mumbled quietly to himself, typing in her name in SHIELDs database, doing anything he could to get a location on her. He doubted she was working alone but she was the first that SHIELD found to be apart of whatever had caused this outbreak. 

A thin tendril of smoke rose from the barrel of Natasha's glock, the silence shattered once more when she put another bullet in the head of her attacker for good measure. She'd been killing these pitiful creatures all week, putting them out of their misery after what the Red Room had done to them. But it wasn't her goal to eliminate these things, it was simply done out of survival while she pursued her true aim.

She had to find every last Room agent still squatting on this godforsaken island and end them. Natasha had been running from them for weeks now, but now the tables had turned. Nowshe was hunting them and she would slaughter them like the beasts they were for what they had done to her in the name of their precious cause.

The redhead cleared the chamber of her weapon and holstered it, running from the relatively exposed parking lot she'd been chased across and into a gutted out petrol station. The place had been thoroughly sacked, but she did find a box of gauze and some vodka. That would have to do. 

Natasha slipped into the restroom and tried the tap, incredibly this place still had running water and she took full advantage, using a cloth and a bit of dish soap to clean the worst of the grime from her porcelain skin. Then came the fun bit. She propped her foot up on the edge of the sink and rolled her pant leg up, exposing the messy, angry red bite mark halfway up her calve muscle. The redhead winced as she cleaned it with the stinging vodka, taking a swig of it straight from the bottle herself periodically. It was cheap, but beggars can't be choosers and it was the first drink she'd had in a long time.

She cleaned the bite mark thoroughly tho the pain made her lightheaded, or maybe that was the alcohol. Natasha bound her injury and took another drink, staring herself down in the mirror. She wouldn't be infected, but she was still every bit a monster. She couldn't look at herself anymore, gathering up the dirty towels and cotton pads she'd used and throwing them away, chuckling to herself as she realized what a ludicrous thing that was to do. No one would be coming to collect the trash.

She was on garbage duty now, and she planned on taking out every last piece or Red Room filth she came across until they were all dead or she was. She had a hard time caring which came first. 

Clint found the Russians last known whereabouts within a few seconds. He was still on the SHIELD server when the power surged, this time the screen went black. He slammed his fist on the desk, "No. No, no no!..." His eyes darted back and forth over the screens surrounding him. "Come on!" He yelled to the empty building as though that might make a difference. Now he was sitting in the dark. Alone. He didn't fear much of anything, but he didn't exactly feel comfortable with the pitch black of the building given the circumstances. He looked up, the line of tiny windows along the ceiling were his only source of light to follow at least for now.

"I love my job... I love my job. I help people... This is all to help people." He chanted, reminding himself that there was a reason behind everything he had to do. He threw his bow over his shoulder, staying close to the walls and stepping around the couple dozen bodies, the route to the door lined with blood, of those who'd fought to escape this hell hole. The marksmans foot splashed in a pool of the crimson liquid and he fought back his nausea.

When he got outside, it was worse than what he recalled, biters had gotten in through the gates of the base. Luckily he'd gone unnoticed so far; he jogged along the fenceline towards the gate. Clint could use a drink and shower if either was possible at the moment. But suddenly that dream seemed all the more likely when he spotted off in the distance, a gas station. He need supplies, more than just alcohol; a few things just to get by at least for the night.

It took him a few minutes to finally make it to the station but as he approached the building, he took note in his surroundings, the area was fairly clear which to him meant that someone had already been there to restock their own camp. The archer pulled his bow from his back and a bloody arrow from his quiver, shooting at a straggler by the door of the store, making his entry clear. The only sound he heard was the ding of the bell meant to tell the store clerk that there was a customer. His eyes lit up as he spotted the cold fridge, half stocked with water and gatorade.

"Thank God." He muttered, pulling a couple of the now warm bottles out of the case and chugging one. He wandered down the small aisles, snatching up a protein bar and a bag of Doritos from the shelves. "Looks like we're having a feast tonight, Barton." He whispered to himself. And you gotta stop talking to yourself. he thought. Clint sighed, sitting on the edge of the counter as he tore open the wrapper of his protein bar.

He nearly dropped the bite he had in his mouth as he looked out the window. His eyes widened, a group of biters wandering in the direction of the gas station where he was while others came around the corner from the back side of the building. The archer didn't understand, he had been as quiet as he could. His heart jumped as he heard rustling coming from in the bathroom, biter or survivor he didn't much wanna deal with anyone right now. For all he knew this location could have been someone's base and he was an intruder. He pulled the glock from his hip, turning his aim from the bathroom door to the entrance of the quickie mart, deciding on what to handle first. 

Natasha was just about to exit the bathroom when she heard the automated chime of the gas station door ring, she was no longer alone. Judging by the distinct lack of growling, groaning or crashing, the intruder was human, which was even worse in her opinion. This place was hardly suitable for hiding in considering how open and exposed it was, but still there were lots of supplies in here that she wanted and in these times lives were lost over a few bottles of water and a bag of chips.

The former spy waited, poised at the door listening for cues. Her hand slowly went to her sidearm and she drew it, shoving the flat vodka bottle into the back of her pants and then easing the door open just a crack. Her blue eyes widened with shock, there was a... A man sitting on the check out counter tearing into a power bar like he hadn't seen food in a month. He looked like a marine? No, an army ranger maybe? His fatigues were devoid of any markings that she could see but he was clearly military or perhaps a hired gun. He shifted suddenly, noticing something she couldn't see out the window and she had to suppress a scoff of surprise. Was that a bow and quiver strapped to his back?

Her eyes narrowed as she caught the small round stylized eagle logo on his left shoulder when he turned. He was S.H.I.E.L.D., had to be. Natasha mentally cursed. She had been ducking that organization for years, and she wasn't naive enough to think her forsaking the Red Room would buy her any credit with them. He probably didn't know she was a target just because he was part of their organization, but she couldn't afford to take that risk.

The redhead started easing the door open further, needing just a few centimeters more and she could taken him out. That plan went out the window however when she heard scrabbling at the tiny frosted glass window on the wall behind her. What the hell? Natasha thought as she whipped around, her heart clenching when she realized the building was rapidly being surrounded by mindless Red Room projects gone wrong.

She checked the door again to see what that bastard who'd brought the biters down on their heads was doing. He was staring right at the bathroom door, and their eyes met and locked. Natasha was struck by how handsome the man was, though it wasn't the kind of thing she could afford to focus on at the moment. The window behind her shattered and she spun, firing bullets into the howling, slavering zombies trying to climb over each other into the bathroom.

Natasha did the stupidest thing in the book and retreated out of the room guns firing, fully exposing her back to the unknown SHIELD operative. But what choice did she have? They might be enemies but she doubted he wanted to be eaten any more than she did. They could at least help each other out of here and then kill each other like civilized people after they got away from the monsters.

He was busy firing as well, thankfully not at her but at the veritable horde of infected storming the station. Where the hell were they all coming from all the sudden?

"How many?!" Natasha yelled at him over her shoulder, taking out mark after mark with clean head shots through their eyes. The man mirrored her movements as if they'd rehearsed this a hundred times, covering her back and slowly moving with her towards the back of the store where they might have a chance to get away assuming the whole place wasn't already crawling with the buggers. 

Clint had his weapon trained towards the entrance of the station where the infected were quickly flooding to. His gaze flashed back over to the bathroom door and his eyes trained on a petite redhead. She was gorgerous from what he could see. He immediately started firing as the window of the bathroom broke, soon to be followed by the large glass store front.

Without so much as another thought, he used her as an ally as though she was one of his partners. They took down biters one by one as they broke into the building. Quicker than thought, Barton and the redhead headed towards the back exit of the building. "'Bout a dozen or so!" He called back to her, inching her towards the exit. As if on instict or maybe it was stupidity, he shielded her, pushing her back towards the door as he fired his last few rounds at the biters that surrounded them.

He was reloading when she froze at the door and he looked over his shoulder, wondering what was taking her so long. "Look, Red, now's really not the time to be..." Then he realized the problem that had arised, five or six zombies had still remained at the backside of the building. The archer didn't take a second to even think it through, he cocked his gun and he grabbed her as he backed his way out the door, firing rounds as each victim in turn. The petite woman faced him, death in her gaze as she raised her glock. "Woah! What are you doing?!" he asked just as she fired, but the shot went just by him and over his shoulder, hitting a biter square in the face and blowing it's head to bits.

He could only half relax, he hardly trusted her and it was clear that she didn't seem to want much to do with him. Clint replaced his gun in it's holster, pulling his bow from his back and gripping it tight in his hand. "Hold your fire. You'll only attrack more of 'em." he stated flatly, looking her over. He knew who she was now that he could see her completely.

The pair kept moving, running... or rather limping on the redhead's part and heading to an old parking structure. Neither of them said much to the other and it was clear there was tension between them for whatever reason. The sandy blonde SHIELD agent had a reason though, he had to kill her. And making friendly conversation before the deed was done, might make it a little awkward. "Come on sweetheart, let's get a move on, you're waddling like one of those biters." He commented somewhat harshly as he scoped out a vehicle to his liking. She was lagging behind and he wasn't going to be anything of a gentleman to one of his targets. So he didn't wait for her as he jogged up to a sleek black car. He supposed that he could just leave her there but... she was a good shot. 

Natasha cursed at her improvised partner in Russian as he grabbed her and swung her around like she was some delicate lady who needed his protection. She saw one of the biters round the corner of the station straight towards the man and for a brief second considered letting his overly chivalrous ass get munched, but with a small sigh she leveled her gun just over his shoulder and took the monster out before it could get to him.

They exchanged a weighted glance and she nodded slightly at his words. Nothing brought these creatures around like gunfire. Suddenly the antique weapon choice made more sense to her, the compound bow and arrows would be a far quieter way to hunt these things. She grudgingly granted the man a tidbit of respect in her mind, though she was still skeptical. It was only a good idea if you could use the archaic weapon effectively, and she certainly hadn't met many archers in her long and varied career.

The pair made a break for the parking garage across the street and much to her chagrin the redhead lagged behind, the wound in her leg on fire. She could feel it bleeding through her bandage and pant leg but she couldn't afford to care at the moment. Natasha followed behind the man and kept asking herself the whole way into the garage why she wasn't shooting him in the back. She had used him to help her get clear of the overrun station, so why let him continue to live now?

She told herself it was because there might be more biters in the parking garage to fight off, but a small nagging doubt was tugging at her mind that she refused to examine more closely at the moment.

Natasha saw the SHIELD agent quickly select a vehicle and rolled her eyes as he smashed the window with his elbow without preamble so he could get inside and start hotwiring it. So much for keeping quiet. The growling cries of their new friends echoed off the concrete walls and floor of the parking deck, the spy whirled and raised both her guns, taking out the zombies as they rushed into the structure towards them.

"Any time you want to get that thing started Robin Hood..." Natasha called over her shoulder as she discarded her empty clips and reloaded her weapons in the time it took to blink. Monster after monster fell to her precise shots but there were just too many replacing the ones she took out. They were going to be overrun in a matter of moments and Natasha stillcouldn't fathom why she hadn't just turned and shot the man working to bring their getaway car to life. She could have hotwired every car on this row by now and been on the road, but instead she kept shooting, cursing as even more animated bodies poured in. She didn't miss a single mark but there were too many and they were closing in.

Finally the engine of the black sports car revved to life and the redhead back up and got into the car guns still firing. She didn't even think about the fact that he had opened her door for her from the inside of the car, it just happened so naturally that it was only after they were already moving that it occurred to her that he could have just left her there to die and hadn't.

Natasha shifted in the seat, bracing herself as they barreled full speed over the fallen zombies she had shot down and took out a couple that were still ambling towards them. A sharp Russian curse escaped her lips as he ran full on into a biter and it slammed into the windshield then rolled like a rag doll off the roof of the car.

They got a mile or so away from the garage and gas station, as well as all the useful supplies that had been in said gas station and finally Natasha glanced over at the man in the driver seat. She had been trained to read people, and this man was like an open book to her. He was tired, stressed, haunted. But that was only to be expected considering the situation; the thing that made him interesting to her was the resilience in his sharp silver eyes. He was either too stubborn or too stupid to succumb to the horror that his world had become, and she both admired and pitied him. Strength. The stronger you are, the more it hurts when you break. And break you shall. Her former Director's words echoed in her mind and she quickly pushed that dark memory back down in it's box in the back of her head where it belonged.

"So." Natasha prompted, after they'd driven in tense silence for a few more minutes. She knew she had to kill him, but it would be nice to do it once they had stopped the car. Less risky in her current condition. She wanted to know what he thought they were doing right now, because all she was doing was plotting six different ways to kill him before she passed out from blood loss, which judging from the way the edges of her vision were blurring, wasn't far off. 

Clint threw his bow over his shoulder again and smirked as he lifted his arm and slammed his elbow into the driver side window, reaching through it and unlocking the door. He took a glance over his shoulder, seeming completely unphased by the newest arrivals as he climbed into the car. He stuck his head under the steering wheel as the redhead started firing at the monsters around them. "Chill... You know you should really think about taking up yoga. Deep breathing. It does wonders." He snapped back, his brow furrowing as he focused on the task at hand.

Finally he slipped two wires together and the engine roared. He sat up quickly, reaching over and throwing open the passanger door for his new companion to get in. He slammed his own door shut, the tires screeching across the concrete ground as he backed out and quickly threw the car into drive and floored it towards another biter. He howled with excited laughter, loving the rush of adreniline that pumped through his veins as they barreled through the exit gate.

The archer didn't really understand why the hell he didn't just lock the doors and speed away from this woman. He was meant to kill her anyways. She was a part of this whole mess, she deserved to die... but at the same time when he looked at her, he could see there was something different. She didn't come across as the type to want to harm so many people. If she did, she'd have killed him already, wouldn't she?

He stole a glance in her direction again, trying to avert his eyes and focus on the road, not that there was anyone else around for him to look out for. He hadn't seen another survivor, not in this area. "So... what?" Clint questioned in return, he wasn't going to humor her, not for a second. He shifted in his seat, his eyes following a stray biter on the side of the road. He'd killed so many already, that he was starting to forget these things used to be human. "I know who you are... Know that you're probably plotting the easiest or most thrilling way to kill me..." The marksman stated easily, keeping his eyes trained on the road. He wasn't scared, not one bit despite the fact that she was a master assassin, known for how quickly she worked and how easily killing someone came to her. Without so much as a second thought.

"You know full well who I work for and likely why I'm here." He smiled dangerously. "You've made quite a name for yourself, Romanova... And this most recent operation of your little Red Room, has crossed the line." 

Natasha's scarlet brows arched up slightly in surprise as he baldly admitted to knowing who she was and his intention of taking her life. Still, she felt no fear, no impulse to try and dissuade him from his goal. Living in the shadows tended to cure one's fear of the dark, having your life threatened when you lived in a world of death? No great shakes.

A little scoff of laughter escaped her lips at his last comment. "Operation, hmm? More like hugest fuck up to date in a long history of fuck ups. After I broke free of their hold I was content to let those bastards fall on their own sword, but now..." The spy's blue eyes darkened as she recalled what they had put her through, "Now the game is take out as many of those свиней as I can before I drop. You can try to end the game if you want, but if you know who I am then you know that won't be easy." Natasha pulled the vodka bottle out from her waistband and took a long pull from the bottle, savoring the burn of the cheap alcohol for what it was. They rode in silence again for several minutes, she guessed the man was mulling over her words. She doubted he expected her to be so frank with him, and his inability to form a response was satisfying in it's way. 

"Whether you believe me or not, I had no part in causing this. And I've been trying to take out those that are responsible. If it's all the same to you, I'd rather keep doing that. I saw some of those biters wearing SHIELD emblems, the battle you're fighting is a losing one. Doesn't mean it shouldn't be fought, for one reason or another. The more people trying to stop the spread of this infection and the fools who created it the better, right?" She asked pragmatically, offering him the vodka bottle. She watched him take the alcohol and take a swig, coughing a little at the burn and she smiled without meaning to. She quickly masked it and waited for his response. 

"Such language for a 'lady.'" Clint commented with a small smirk as he appraised her for likely the hundrenth time. His eyes flashing to her full chest only to quickly look away again. He listened to what the redhead had to say; he wasn't sure what to think about it all. Maybe she really didn't have all that much to do with this as SHIELD had expected, or perhaps she was better at playing the game than he thought. She was trained to play any part she was given. The archer watched to empty road, unsure of how to repond so they sat in silence again.

He quirked a brow as she took drinks from the bottle she pulled form her back pocket before offering it over to him. Barton put it to his lips and took a swig, coughing as the liquid dripped down his throat. "Think we could find a bar around here that hasn't been completely ransacked?" He chuckled. His features softened a little, for whatever stupid reason, he believed what she told him. "Fine." He nodded slowly in agreement, she was right. If he was going to stop this outbreak or even simply slow it down.

He gripped the wheel a little tighter as he thought about all the SHIELD agents that were infected when trying to usher people out of the city or simply save themselves. It was dangerous for anyone to be out there, no matter how good of an agent they were. Though, Clint didn't have much to live for... it didn't matter much if he didn't make it back. He'd been doing these old agents a favor by putting them to rest. "You may be right. We might be losing but... that doesn't mean I'm gonna quit fighting. I don't believe in white flags." His face was deadly serious as he spoke, he was out for blood, the blood of whoever was responsible for this. "I'd die before I got down on my knees for those bastard collugues of yours."

They road for at least ten miles or so before finally making it outside of the city. The marksman wasn't even sure where it was they were going anymore. "Robin Hood works." He responded with a chuckle when she asked if he was going to tell her who he was or let her stick with Robin Hood. Clint exhaled slowly, seeing she wasn't going to take him being mysterious or secretive, not if this was going to work. "Name's, Clint Barton and I'm not up for playing twenty questions alright?... We need to find shelter, this car's only gonna take us so far." 

"No white flags..." Natasha mused over his words, appreciating the real conviction behind them. She had seen far too many men high on their own bravado, and killed many of them. But this man wasn't trying to prove anything, wasn't trying to put on a show. He didn't have to act strong, he just was.

"Well it hardly seems fair that you know my name and shoe size but I don't know yours. Unless you really are called Robin Hood?" Natasha shot him a wry grin as he handed her back the bottle. His laugh when he responded was deep and warm and put her at ease, it surprised her how strongly it affected her. Then again, it had been a very long since Natalia Romanova had heard laughter that wasn't fake or born of spite. Still, she needed his name. Names were powerful. If you called someone by their name, you could gain influence over them on a deep, unconscious level. It was manipulation 101, and it was almost second nature to the spy to get her hooks in. 

She was going to kill him the second he turned on her, or was no longer useful, she reminded herself sternly. She was only relaxing because the vodka was having a greater affect on her in her weakened state. Talking to this 'Clint Barton' had nothing to do with it.

She glanced at the fuel gauge and nodded in agreement. The E light wasn't on yet but it would be soon, which meant they were rapidly moving from screwed to royally screwed. They passed a road sign that read 10 km to Swindon, 90 km to London. 

"I've been trying to make my way to London, a Red Room Director is supposedly holed up there. Let's see if we can get as far as Swindon, hopefully find someplace safe for the night and resupply." Natasha suggested, figuring at this point there wasn't any reason to part ways with the SHIELD agent. He obviously preferred taking out his targets from a distance, so if he was going to turn on her it would be in her best interest to keep him close. Until she killed him. Because she was going to, just not yet, she reminded herself again. 

Clint wouldn't say he was warming up to the idea of having a partner again. Most definitely he wasn't relaxing in the redhead's presence... at least not too much. He still hadn't decided what he was going to do but so far she had prooved herself enough to him that she made for a good asset. He could see based on the look in her eye that she still wouldn't be letting her guard down around him, not completely. Though he couldn't blame her; it made him smile to himself at the thought that she didn't seem to be able to figure him out.

He lifted the heel of his hand, ducking his head down a little to check the fuel gauge. It'd be pushing it, but if Swindon was as far as they got then so be it. It could be fun being holed up in some old dump with a woman who wanted to kill him and tension in the air, so thick you could practically cut it with a knife. "To Swindon, then." He responded, his eyes flickering up to the rear view mirror and seeing the city behind them slowly starting to disappear.

The pair made it a couple miles out before the car suddenly started to slow. The archer cursed under his breath as he milked it for all it was worth, keeping his foot firm on the gas and letting the car drift until it finally came to a stop on it's own. "Well so much for that idea." He snapped, reaching in the back seat for his bow and quiver which he had removed when they left the parking garage. He threw open his door and tossed his trusty old friend over his shoulder with a sigh, already beginning the trek to Swindon on foot. "You comin' or you gonna sit there and be biter bait?" He asked with a grin, peddling backwards slowly as she stepped out of the car.

Clint scanned up and down the road on both sides, looking for a place they could possibly relocate. He even so much as checked the trees, scoping for a good spot they might be able to sleep in. "So what is it that's got you so riled up about the Red Room bastards? They find themselves a new agent? She prettier or something?" He questioned, turning when she didn't respond and noticing that the sound of Natasha's footsteps behind him began to fade. He doubled back to where she was slightly hunched over in pain, "Hey... it's gonna be dark soon, we should really get going. I saw an old farm house less than a quarter mile up." He spoke to her with a hint of concern in his voice, quickly trying to mask it as best he could. He didn't know her, not really. He shouldn't give two shits about this woman. He didn't give two shits about this woman.

His eyes affixed to the wound on her calve, "Is that a bite?" The marksmans eyes widened, looking from her leg up to her face, though she was fair skin to begin with, now she was ghost white and if he had to guess, it was from the blood loss. "Tell me! Were you bitten?!" he asked her again, this time more sternly, his fingers wrapping around the butt of his glock, ready to put her to sleep.

Of course it was just her kind of luck that their car ran out of gas mere moments after their conversation about making it to the next town of any size. Natasha kept up her cool exterior but she was quickly growing fed up with how much the universe was enjoying kicking while she was down. She wasn't going to make it one mile on her leg, let alone the whole way to Swindon on foot.

She shrugged off what Barton was saying, focused only on getting herself out of the vehicle and testing her weight on her leg. Hardly two steps and she was already shaking and struggling to breathe from the pain, and the back of her pant leg was wet and plastered to her skin from the blood seeping from it. "Fuck." She muttered under her breath, stooping to roll up her pant leg and get a look at her injury.

The archer jogged back over to her, immediately questioning her injury. "Easy, Cupid." Natasha's blue eyes slid up to his silver ones, giving him a withering look. "Yes, I was bitten. Now think: How long after someone is bitten do they start showing symptoms of infection? How long does it take for them to go full-on night of the living dead? Ten minutes, tops." She straightened up again with some difficulty, noting that his hand was still hovering over his sidearm.

"Do I look like a biter to you? Relax. The Red Room had to have an insurance policy so it couldn't be used against themselves. I was the lucky 'volunteer' they got to create said insurance policy. I'm immune, just like all those other bastards pulling the strings. That's why I'm taking care of them myself. Did I answer all your questions, Barton?" She snapped, her sharp tone belying the fact that she was swaying on her feet. 

She could see the conflict in his eyes and lost patience with this whole ordeal. She was hurt, tired, angry and alone. Always alone. "Just fucking go, all right?! This bite might kill me if I don't get it patched up, but it won't turn me, so you don't have to worry about me coming after your spleen in the dead of night. Leave me, I'll only slow you down. You wanted me dead anyway, right? Mission accomplished. Go!" She waved him off, taking a staggering step back from him and cursing as her leg gave out and she fell.

Quicker than thought her assassin turned partner caught her up in his arms, keeping her from buckling to the ground. A small cry of pain escaped her lips as he hoisted her into his arms, and she writhed in his grip as best she could. "What are you doing? Are you insane?" She asked, completely flabbergasted by the man's actions. She was his enemy, a target at best, a liability to his own survival at worst in her current condition. What was he helping her for? 

Clint's hand gripped tighter to the weapon on his hip, ready to draw it even as she spoke. He contemplated the idea of shooting her point blank, searching her eyes as she tried to brush this incident off. He didn't know whether to trust her or not so his hand still hovered above his glock. The archer could see that she was having trouble even staying up right, let alone talking to him. He didn't remember seeing her getting bit, she had that limp since the moment they left the gas station. It seemed logical that if she was going to turn, she would have miles back.

Natasha started yelling at him, cursing and waving him off; already deciding that she was going to just let herself die. That was it. But Clint had another thought, clenching his fist and stepping towards her. He wrapped his arm around her waist and lifted her up, tucking his free arm behind her knees and cradling her despite her pathetic attempt to free herself from his hold. His jaw tightened, his face completely serious and his eyes focused on the one thing that they had going for them. Shelter.

"It's been a few years since SHIELD had me tested but you know you're not the first to question my sanity." He quipped, giving her a crooked half smile as he walked as fast as his feet would carry them both towards the farm house. "I'm not gonna let you die that way. That'd count as surrendering." It felt longer than the quarter mile Clint had estimated but he guessed that was only because the extra baggage he was carrying, along with the fact that he was already exhausted from the multiple biter encounters. He still wanted that shower, he felt a little sorry for Natasha having to be so close to him right now.

He went so far as to carry her inside the entryway of the two story home. It was your typical country side bed and breakfast sort of place, only it smelt worse, like it'd been sitting here rotting and empty for who knew how many years. The door pushed right open and the marksman looked at Natasha, slowly setting her back on her feet when it clicked that he no longer needed to hold onto her in such a way. He kept his arm snaked around her waist and helped her limp over to the dusty green sofa in the front room. "Wait here okay?" He whispered, his hand brushing over her thigh as he straightened out.

His eyes fixed to every corner of the room; despite that the house seemed abandoned, he couldn't help but feel like they were introducing on someone's territory so he decided to give the place a good once over and make sure not stragglers had wandered in. It was clear as far as he could see, wandering back into the front room to assist his new companion with her injury. 

Natasha looked up at the SHIELD agent in the waning light, the crooked grin across his face derailing her anger. "Well that's certainly comforting." She responded with a little roll of her eyes. His remark about not giving up struck her, and she remained quiet for the rest of the trek up the road to the abandoned house he had spotted earlier.

She still couldn't fathom why he was helping her like this. It didn't make any sense. She was too drained to analyze his motives at the moment however, simply allowing herself to relax against his strong frame. From this angle she could see every detail of his face, his features strong and full of character. He was sweaty and dirty but then again she wasn't in much better shape, and there was something appealing about his raw, masculine scent. She mentally shook herself, she must be getting loopy from blood loss if these were the kinds of things she was focusing on.

They made it to the house and Barton put her down and helped her limp over to the couch in the center of the living room, disturbing the dust settled over it when she sat heavily down on it. His strong hand swept over her thigh as he stood away from her, and Natasha stiffened a little at the contact. It was so natural, so intimate, like they'd been down in the trenches together for years. It was strange, but not unpleasant. Dammit, why was he having such a strong effect on her?

She tried to shake off her fluster, setting her guns beside her on the coffee table and glancing around the room. It was probably a quaint little farmhouse before the world went to hell. Such was life. She leaned down to tug her pant leg up again, taking her lighter out of her pocket and trying to make do with what little light it offered. Her bleeding had stopped which was good, but it would only take another few steps to start it again. Natasha needed stitches, but she'd left her duffel with her med kit back at that gas station.

She looked up when she heard her new partner's footsteps returning, it was clear by his demeanor that there were no immediate threats that he could see after checking the place over. Natasha relaxed a little, running through a survival check list in her mind.

"You don't happen to have a field kit of some kind, do you? If not I need to see if I can find a needle and thread, this needs patching." Natasha tipped her chin down at her wound. I bet this place uses well water, so we might be in luck there. Gotta check for provisions, candles..." She started ticking off the list out loud as she struggled back to her feet, but her voice trailed off and she nearly fell again. She needed rest and something in her system, Natasha's physiology had been enhanced somewhat by The Room, but she had lost a lot of blood and it had been a long day... Week... Decade. 

Clint stepped to the side of the sofa where Natasha sat examining her wounded leg. He shook his head, sighing deeply. He wasn't relaxed but he certainly felt better having a place for them both to stay.... For him to stay. He corrected himself, he didn't care about her. He'd only just met her. "Nothing. Sorry. Hadn't really thought that through." He answered.

Natasha stood up again, only to sway on her feet and look like she just might pass out. "Woah. Pop a squat, Red. You're not going anywhere." He stated firmly as he redirected her to the sofa again. "What we need is to patch your leg first. Then I'll go around back and check for a well... get us some water." The soft light of the setting sun was barely enough for him to see Natasha sitting right in front of him. It wouldn't last long so he'd need to search the place fast.

The archer wandered back into what seemed to be an old guest bedroom, rummaging through the drawers and the closet as quickly as he could. "No luck." He called to her from inside the closet, growing frustrated already. He stepped back into the hall and made a beeline towards the kitchen, digging through a drawer beside the sink. A pocket knife, pens, candles and a bunch of other random junk. He pulled out the candles and soon discovered what he needs, a tiny sewing kit, meant to mend buttons or patch holes on the go. He grinned and jogged back to the redhead, supplies in hand.

Clint placed the few candles he found on the coffee table and without even having to communicate it to her, she lit the wicks. He sat down on the sofa beside her and pulled his leg up into his lap, opening the mending kit and threading the needle. "Ready?" He asked, looking up at her as he sterilized the needle on one of the flames of the candle, digging it into her skin. This certainly would be a rough patching job but it was all they could manage given the circumstances. He worked quickly and diligantly to sew up her bite mark, tying it off just as she seemed like she couldn't tolerate anymore. "Shhh..." He hushed her as she cursed at him, giving a rough chuckle as he leaned his head down, breaking the end of the thread with his teeth. "Still got that vodka?" He asked, taking it from her and pouring a little onto her stitched up leg. 

Natasha only made a token effort to resist him ushering her back onto the couch, listening to him moving throughout the house looking for something to stitch her wound with. Finally he returned with some candles and a tiny sewing kit, it wasn't much but again, beggars and choosers.

The redhead winced as Barton eased her leg up into his lap, nodding tightly at him when he asked if she was ready. She focused on taking deep breaths as he worked the needle in and out of her torn flesh, her fingers gripping the couch cushions till her knuckles were white. To his credit he got the job done quickly and neatly. It was rough but it would do.

He bent to cut the string with his straight white teeth and his lips brushed against the skin of her calve. Natasha's breathing sped at his touch and she hoped he would attribute her fluster to the pain. He asked her for the vodka and she handed it to him, hissing through her teeth as he poured the stinging liquid over her wound to sterilize it. 

Her heart was hammering from the adrenaline flooding her system out of pain response, giving her voice a bit of a shaky edge when she spoke. "Thank you. You didn't have to do this for me. No one's ever..." Natasha shook her head, cutting off her foolish babbling. No one had ever helped her like this before, lifting what was heavy, tending what was hurt. She didn't know what to do. Hers was a world of lies and darkness, the genuine concern in the agent's eyes was unexpected and strange.

She tipped her head down trying to hide the fact that her mask had slipped. Looking downwards Natasha realized that Barton's hand was still resting on her leg, his thumb lightly running over the soft skin on the inside of her knee. Again the gesture struck her as natural, she hadn't even realized he was doing it until she'd looked. She couldn't even bring herself to be angry, in fact she found she liked the feel of his rough, callused hand on her bare skin. Her eyes flickered back up to his, wondering if he even realized he was touching her like that. 

Clint could hear Natasha's breathing changing as he looked back at her. He couldn't pin point the reasoning behind it, whether it be their closeness, which he hoped she hadn't noticed was starting to affect him too, or the pain from her leg. He shook his head as she started to thank him for fixing her up. She didn't even have to finish her thought for him to know what she was going to say.

No one had given her the kindness, the assistance or affection. "I know I didn't but..." He started to respond, his silver eyes fixing onto her bright blue one's, "You seemed like you need the help. It's nothing really." He shrugged, the corner of his mouth twitching up into a smile as she ducked her head down. He could tell he was making her a little flustered, or at least that's what he assumed it to be.

His hand rested over her leg, running his thumb in circles over her porceline skin in a comforting manner. He hadn't even noticed he was doing it subconsciously until she looked down at his hand and back up at him. He glanced down for a brief second, watching his fingertips brush higher up her leg then back down, liking the way her skin felt, smooth beneath his battered fingertips. His lips parted slightly and he stopped the gentle motion, looking back at her and clearing his throat, feeling like an idiot despite the fact that she didn't push him off or yell at him like he'd expected she might. "We should get some sleep..." He muttered, searching her face and tracing the outline of her plump red lips with his eyes. 

Natasha nodded slightly at his words, unconsciously wetting her lips with a flick of her pink tongue. Another tense moment passed, neither assassin able to avert their gaze from the other. Finally Natasha cleared her throat and forced herself back into Widow mode, uneasy with how quickly this stranger had slipped past her guard. 

"Right. We should sleep in shifts just to be safe. I'll take first watch, this leg is gonna keep me up for awhile and you look like hell Cupid. You need some sleep." She told him, forcing herself to extract her leg from his grasp. Natasha let him help her to her feet, insisting on walking upstairs with his help rather than letting him carry her again.

They made their way upstairs and the archer pointed out the master bedroom at the end of the hallway, it was the only bedroom in the house with a bed that slept two. It wasn't discussed, both of them simply knew it was practical for them to sleep in the same room so they could cover each other in the event of an attack.

Barton left Natasha to forage for usable clothing in the bedroom while he went back downstairs and out back to get them some water if he could. Judging by the pictures and decor an older couple had lived in this farmhouse, and for a long time too. There was a soft blue satin nightgown in the dresser, what was 'current' for its former owner was vintage on her. She peeled off her travel and bloodstained clothing, slipping on the nightgown and hoping the archer would be able to get them a bucket or two of water so she could at least sponge off a bit.

She also found a pair of old green and black plaid flannel pants and a white undershirt that had belonged to the man who had lived here, the shirt looked like it might be tight on Barton's broad torso but it would have to do if he wanted something clean to sleep in. She tossed his clothing on the wing-back chair next to the bed and tugged the dusty coverlet off the bed revealing clean enough sheets beneath. It wasn't a cold night so she wasn't worried about not having the blanket. She thwacked the dust out of the down pillows on the bed as best she could, then eased herself onto the mattress, waiting for her companion to return. 

Clint kept his eyes locked on Natasha's, his chest rising and falling as he tried desperately to look away from her. Finally she broke their lingering gaze and spoke, making him snap out of his trance. He shook his head, trying to fulling pull himself back to remember the situation they were in. "Fair enough." He chuckled as she told him that he looked like crap.

He helped her up the stairs slowly, holding the wrist of her arm drapped over his shoulders. He pointed out the master bedroom and quickly left her to search for clean clothes to wear to bed at least. The archer went back down to the first floor, taking a deep breath and scolding himself for the thoughts that occured about Natasha as he wandered outside with an old lantern he'd found in one of the hall closets.

He went outside into the darkness with his bow on his back for protection and the lantern in one hand as he wandered through the open field to find a source of water. It didn't take long for him to stumble upon the well that Natasha had guessed would be there. He gingerly set the light down, lowering the bucket already tied to the end of the rope down into the well.

The archer trekked back to the farm house, it was eerily quiet, not even the sounds of crickets or any kind of wildlife like you might expect to hear in a place like this. He made a cursory check of the perimeter, heading back in through the back door. It was his natural instinct to check the locks on the doors, it made him uneasy knowing that the front door didn't have but a single lock. He figured being in a secluded place like this, the old owners back then didn't have to worry about intruders much.

He bounded up the steps and headed back into the master bedroom where Natasha was already in bed, with the covers barely covering her bottom half. He could see the silk night gown she wore.... and boy did she wear it well. He swallowed hard, quickly looking elsewhere and hoping she didn't catch him staring. "There's only one bucket down there that I could find so uhh... That'll have to do til morning." His words came out in a rush. Clint rubbed the back of his neck nervously. What the hell was he getting flustered for? He'd slept with dozens of women, hit on and hung around thousands and yet this one single girl was making him sweat?

He pulled the pajamas that Natasha found for him off the chair, setting his bow just near the nightstand. The archer wasn't shy, tugging his vest off and feeling the weight of it leave his chest, sighing as he felt the cool air against his sweat dampened skin. He sat on the edge of the bed and took his boots off one by one, then his hands hooked into his black sleeveless undershirt, pulling it over his head and slowly without another thought tugged his bottoms off, switching them with the flannel ones. He turned to Natasha once he'd replace his shirt with the one he'd borrowed, her eyes were already trained on him, "This isn't..." he quirked his brow, his heart racing as she quickly broke her gaze from his muscular frame. "...going to work." He finished, tugging at the sleeves hugging his biceps and then fidgeting with the bottom hem wrapped snug around his torso. He sighed, climbing into the bed beside her and giving up fussing with the material. 

Natasha sighed gratefully when Barton came back into the bedroom toting a metal bucket full of water. She didn't miss the way his gaze raked over her a tiny smirk playing at the corners of her full pout. She wasn't stupid. She knew what she looked like, using her sensual beauty as a tool was like second nature to her now. It occurred to her yet again how easy it would be to play him like a fiddle and snuff out his life. 

She couldn't help that her mind immediately went there considering her training, but it was a strange sensation to brush those thoughts aside. She certainly still didn't really trust him, but for now... She would refrain from killing him. He had proven to be valuable as a partner, and she still couldn't get the way he'd looked at her downstairs out of her mind. Or how careful he'd been tending to her wound.

The spy adjusted herself back on the pillows as she watched her companion shed his gear and dark undershirt, her eyes widening for a fraction of a second as she took in his chiseled frame. The archer was all corded muscle and sinew, the kind earned from working and using his whole body, not from pumping himself up like a peacock at a gym. His tanned skin was marred here and there with various scars, his rough history etched into his flesh. She bore many similar marks- bullet wounds, deep lacerations, burns. It made her feel a certain sense of camaraderie with the man, knowing that he had spent his life fighting like she had.

He glanced at her after he finished dressing and she quickly tore her gaze from him, a little flustered that she'd let herself get caught staring. She collected herself and met his gaze, a deep chuckle escaping her lips as he fidgeted with the obviously too small t-shirt. It stretched quite nicely over his defined abs and muscled back, personally she didn't see any problem with it.

Natasha shrugged as he climbed into the bed. "So don't wear it then. You won't offend my delicate sensibilities Barton." She teased, swinging her legs off the side of the bed again with a wince of pain. The redhead dragged the bucket he'd set on the floor closer and dipped the soft washcloth she'd found in the dresser into the cold, clear water.

She wrung it and gently patted her neck and face, she had given herself a bit of a cleaning back at the gas station so she didn't feel too grimy at least. The cool cloth felt good on her skin and helped soothe her racing pulse. Natasha dipped the cloth in the water again, turning on the bed and handing it to the archer so he could at least wash his face.

He swabbed his face down with the cloth and she took it from him to rinse it again, but instead of handing it back to him she followed her impulse and leaned in, pressing the cloth to his neck and carefully wipe away the grit and sweat from his skin. She couldn't explain why she did it, maybe it was a need to pay him back for tending to her wound, maybe something else. But he didn't stop her so she dipped the cloth again, wiping his hands and forearms.

Natasha found that she was fascinated by the man's hands, his fingers long and knobby, it was obvious he'd broken most of them at least once. The pads of his fingers and the heels of his hands were callused and rough, a tribute to the deadly way he earned his living. The veins on his arms stood out and she tracked their paths up his arms with her eyes as she cleaned him. Once she'd cleaned what she could, the redhead eased back and left the cloth on the lip of the bucket.

He was staring at her when she turned back to face him. He hadn't said a word the whole time she'd been washing him, but the hunger in his eyes spoke volumes. Natasha felt her heart race again and she gently cleared her throat, trying to keep her head above the rush of want his gaze was causing in her.

"You should get some rest Cupid..." She murmured, her blue gaze flickering between his silver eyes and down to his lips involuntarily as she imagine what his mouth would feel like slanted against hers. Natasha blinked rapidly, trying to regain her composure and turn off the dangerous corner of her brain encouraging her to find out what he tasted like. 

Clint chuckled as Natasha mentioned he could simply take the shirt off. "No more free shows." He joked, grinning over at her as he relaxed into the mattress, his back propped against the headboard. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and dipped the cloth into the bucket of water ans sponged off her face, flushed with color again and worked down her neck. He watched every motion as she wiped the dirt from her body.

Natasha handed over the damp towel and he took it, clearing his face of the blood and grime collected from the past day or so. He sighed as he felt the cool water drip down his skin before handing over the cloth. She dipped it back in the water and wrung it dry but instead of giving it back to him when she turned like he expected, she brushed the wet fabric over his neck, rubbing off the marks along his jawline.

The archer couldn't explain why he didn't stop her. Probably because she was stunningly beautiful and he was a warm blooded male. Her touch felt just as good as when he'd been caressing her leg earlier. She turned, surprising him a little as she wet the towel again and continued to clean him up gently, her eyes fixed on what she was doing. She didn't come across as the type of girl who was used to or asked for any sort of affection, let alone for her to express it to someone.

Clint's eyes locked on Natasha after she replaced the cloth and faced him again. He wasn't doing much of anything to hide the fact that he was staring. He wanted her, his mouth slightly agape as she spoke. "Yea... Probably should..." he responded, his eyes darting back and forth to both of hers. Slowly he reached up, cupping her cheek as his breathing sped.

The redhead's lips parted and her eyes darkened with the same desire that Clint was feeling as he leaned closer to her, pressing his lips to hers. He deepened the kiss when Natasha responded to it, her hand closing around the front of his tight shirt. He didn't know what to think of it. He wasn't thinking so much as simply acting, acting upon his urges that lingered after their heated glances down stairs. Maybe this was nothing. Maybe they both simply wanted the reminder that there was something else in the world still besides those monsters. 

Natasha was no blushing virgin. She had taken many men for work and for pleasure over the years, and she knew how to get what she wanted out of her partner. But when this man she hardly knew cupped her face and pressed his lips to hers, suddenly she felt like she was back at square one. Her stomach filled with butterflies and her hand slipped up between them to grip his shirt, feeling his heart pounding in his chest.

His tongue traced the seam of her lips and she opened her mouth to him, a tiny sound of want escaping her throat as they explored each other. He was clearly accustomed to taking the lead in this arena and for now she let him, easing back against the soft down pillows as he ravished her mouth and started a fire burning in her skin she wanted more than anything for him to quench. Her hand slid up his corded arm and gripped his hard bicep, her other hand skidding down his abdomen to hook into the hem of his tight white tee and tug it up, her nails scratching over his toned abs.

He broke away from her just long enough to tug his shirt the rest of the way off then his mouth was on her again, swallowing her breathless moan and tugging at her full lower lip. He kissed his way down her jaw and tasted her neck, his scruff scraping her smooth skin and making her shiver with need. 

Natasha's eyes fluttered shut as his mouth wandered further down her throat to her collarbone, then over the swell of her breast. He tugged the satin fabric down to close his lips around her pert nipple and tease it to a rigid point with his tongue. Her hand slid up into his hair and tugged him hard, encouraging him to be rougher. He nipped at her sensitive flesh and she cried out with need, struggling to catch her breath as he moved his head to give similar attention to her other breast.

Her left hand scratched down his back and slid into the hem of his flannel pants, a little hum of approval escaping her as she stroked his length and felt how big he was. He looked back up at her and she shot him a playful smile as she worked him, making him growl and capture her lips again. 

Natasha very carefully stayed focused on the delicious sensations coursing through her body, not wanting to think about what this meant or why it was happening. They were alone, desperate, and in need of a respite from the horrors they'd been faced. She wanted him, he wanted her. Simple. Easy. It didn't matter that his every touch thrilled her, that every sound and breath from him made her ache with her need for him. It had just been a while for her, that was all.  
Clint hummed against her lips as their kiss quickly turned into something more heated. It was clear to him that they both had similar goals in mind as he tasted her, kissing her ravenously and following her as she settled into the pillows. Natasha's hand slid down his abs, taking hold of his shirt and tugging it up as her nails scraped into his skin, making him kiss her hard. He broke away from her for less than a second, hooking his fingers into the hem of his shirt and yanking it quickly over his head.

The archer gripped her hip, brushing down over her thigh as he settled between her legs. He kissed her again, biting and tugging at her plump bottom lip and working his way to the heated flesh of her neck. He latched onto her, sucking on her skin as she hummed with want for him. He half expected that she would stop him, though he knew enough about her to have heard the stories... this wasn't her first time. No where near that at all but why the hell did he care? He should be happy that she was experienced and knew exactly what she was doing.

His lips ran down her throat and quickly found her volumptuous full chest, pulling the fabric of her gown down enough to expose her peak to him. Clint moaned lightly as his mouth closed around her, teasing her sensitive flesh to a point until he felt her fingers in his hair, tugging at him hard, silently communicating that she wasn't one for him being gentle. At least not right now... This didn't mean anything to either of them, he told himself again.

He should stop. But what did he care. If she wanted it too, he shouldn't have doubts about going this far with her. Even if it made things weird later, for all he knew, she could still decide to kill him. The blonde agent was immediately distracted as Natasha's hand snaked down his front and into his flannel bottoms. It was almost as if she knew what he was thinking, grabbing his attention back to her and only her in that moment as she stroked him from base to tip. His mouth fell open at the contact, his eyes black as she smiled at him and a deep growl escaping his lips as he leaned down to kiss her again, his fingers entangling into her soft red curls.

Clint was throbbing with want for her as she worked him and he could hardly stand it. His free hand brushed up over her thigh, lifting the silk fabric of her gown and slipping beneath the fabric of her panties, smiling devilishly at her as he felt them soaked with her need for him. He teased her clit with his fingers, gasping as she worked him a little quicker. The marksman dipped his knobby middle finger into her slick core, stroking her walls and pressing the heel of his hand to her most sensitive spot and watching her as she arched into his touch. Her hand grabbed hold of the waist of his flannel pants, tugging on them insistently.

Natasha's lips parted and a breathy moan escaped her as the archer's strong rough hand found it's way up her leg and beneath the thin barrier of her panties that were already soaked through with her need for him. He stroked her walls and tormented her tingling clit, bringing her desire to a fever pitch. She quickened her pace with her hand around his length, her other hand pushing at the hem of his pants. She wanted him and she wanted him now.

Natasha's head and shoulders curved up off the mattress, she kissed him wildly used both hands to push his pants off his hips. He kicked them off and she slid her uninjured leg up to hook around his waist, tugging him closer impatiently. Her other leg was throbbing but she didn't care, the redhead was accustomed to pain and right now the endorphins flooding her system were blocking most of it out anyway.

Barton pushed her nightgown up further and ground his hardness against her slick entrance, his silver eyes that met hers were nearly black. But still he hesitated to connect their bodies, questioning if she was sure this was really what she wanted in a whisper harsh with need. She could tell that despite how much he wanted this, he was being entirely sincere. If she told him no, she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt he would stop. 

Natasha's heart skipped a beat. She had never been shown even this simple consideration. When she bedded men she always made sure she was in control, playing her part making all the right moves and sounds, but it was all a carefully orchestrated act to suit her ends. But not a single one of them had ever given her that control. Asked her if this was what she really wanted. She was never more than a plaything in their eyes, even if she did hold their lives in her hands the whole time unbeknownst to them.

Clint Barton, known agent of her enemies and man that she'd only met (and decided to kill) hours earlier, was the first man she'd ever been with that actually cared if she was coming along on this ride with him willingly. Her chest tightened up with emotion but she refused to let it rise to the surface. 

The redhead swallowed hard and craned her chin up to press her full ruby lips to his. "I want this. I want you, Clint." She murmured against his lips, sliding her leg higher up his side and pressing down on the base of his spine with the heel of her foot, pressing him down against her insistently. It was the first time she'd spoken his name, and she liked the way it rolled off her tongue. 

Clint kicked off his bottoms at her prompting and Natasha quickly wrapped her leg around his waist, bringing them closer. He still had that doubt in the back of his mind, making it's way to the surface again. Despite her touch and the way she moaned in pleasure from his touch and no matter how much she clawed at him, he didn't want to feel like he was pressuring her in any way. They might hardly no each other and sure the world might be close to the end but that didn't make a difference. It didn't make it okay.

"Are you..." He breathed, trying to calm himself enough to speak. The archer pulled away from her slightly, "Are you sure you want to keep going? Are you sure you want this?" He muttered, searching her expression for any doubt that she might have, any sign that showed him she wanted to stop. He could see in her eyes as she stared back at him, that no one had ever asked her that or requested permission. Natasha quickly blinked at him as though realising suddenly that she had let her mask slip again.

She kissed him softly in reassurance, tenderness that he hadn't at all expected to recieve from a woman like her and the use of his first name caught him off guard. His eyes fell shut, responding to her words with another touch of their lips then another as he tugged her panties down her hips. The redhead hooked her uninjured leg tighter around his back and forced him down, grinding his arrousal against her center, his breath catching in his throat as he joined their bodies.

He moaned as he moved inside her slick core with ease, taking her slow at first as she adjusted to him. Clint gripped her bare thigh tighter, increasing his pace as his fingers pressed into her pale skin. He grazed on her neck, kissing and biting at her just below her ear. Natasha's nails skid up his back and shoulders, clinging to him in response. Her fingers carding through the sandy hair on the back of his head, closing what she could grip onto in her fist as she moaned against his skin. 

Natasha felt her pleasure coiling like a spring tighter and tighter at the apex of her thighs as he moved inside her, she gripped tightly to the flesh of his shoulder and his short sandy hair, getting lost in the delicious sensations washing over her in building waves. She felt his iron grip digging into her thigh as he drove into her, knowing it would mark her and to her surprise she was glad. She wanted the souvenirs of this encounter since it was likely the first and last they'd ever have in the bloody chaos their world had been reduced to.

The archer rolled his hips up into her furiously, changing his angle just enough that he hit her in just the right spot. She tensed and shivered, her nails digging into his back hard enough to draw blood. "Yes... Right there... Oh god don't stop..." Natasha mewled, her whole body trembling and her toes curling as she fell over the brink, her inner muscles clamping around his throbbing length and drawing him deeper insider her as she came. She heard him curse under his breath as he followed closely after her, his muscles tensing and bunching under her hand splayed over his back. He slackened against her, panting heavily and pressing his heated brow into the crook of her neck, and to her surprise instead of wanting to push him off she liked the feeling of him there.

Her grip on him relaxed as she came down from her high and she gently carded her fingers through his sweaty hair which kept him from stirring as they lay entwined. 

Clint shifted his hips a little to hit her deeper, panting against her skin as he thrust harder and faster into her core. Her fevered cries and her nails biting into his back hard enough to break skin, bringing him closer to the edge. He felt Natasha's most feminine muscles flutter and clamp around his shaft, "Ahh.... fuck, Red." He cursed under his breath, rolling his hips into her, his muscles tensing as he came deep inside her.

The archers breath was still coming fast as his pace slowed, riding out their shared pleasure. He pressed his forehead to the crook of her neck, resting against her. He was surprisingly comfortable there, sighing as her fingers gently carded through his hair just as he started to move. Natasha's touch haulted him and he pressed his hand to her cheek, turning his head to kiss her neck in an intimate gesture. He didn't care much what she thought, this certainly felt different than most others he had been with.

He looked up at her as they broke away, a smile tugging at his lips. Clint couldn't get attached to someone. Not someone he had been meant to kill. This was stupid but he would never say that he regretted it... because he didn't. 

His gentle kiss on her throat sent little thrills up and down her body and she had to make a conscious effort to even out her breathing. Normally she would have brushed off such an intimate gesture, or over-analyzed it trying to figure out what his motives might be for doing such a thing.

But again, this time it felt different. His lips on her skin filled her with emotions she didn't even know she was capable of feeling. It felt natural, it felt good and it took all her willpower not to follow him as he rolled off of her and snuggle up against his frame.

Instead she mentally shook herself, reminding herself that she had only met this man hours before and whatever this connection was between them it had been forged in blood and would end in blood just as surely. Natasha sat up and straightened her nightgown demurely, casting a sideways glance at her bunk mate before grabbing the book that lay open on the nightstand. She could still feel his gaze on her as she gingerly blew the dust off it's pages and chuckled.

"Sleep, Barton. I'll wake you in a few hours for your shift." She prompted him, turning the book over to see what it was. Not that it really mattered to her, she just wanted something else to think about that wasn't tomorrow and wasn't what she and this perfect stranger beside her had just done. That she had enjoyed very much, and wanted to do over and over till neither of them could walk.

The spy leaned over so she could see the words on the page in the low candlelight, keeping a sharp ear out for anything angry and dead as she read. After awhile she heard the archer's breathing even out, and she carefully shifted to glance over at him. He was sleeping half in, half out of the twisted up sheet with one arm tossed carelessly over his brow. Her full pout curved up into a grin and she let the book fall closed on her lap. She didn't know how long she spent simply watching him sleep, memorizing the lines of his body and every tiny detail of his features. 

Clint rolled over onto his side of the bed, trying to keep his eyes from her. He wanted to hold her still but he didn't... he couldn't. He couldn't let that attachment to her develop, not in the least bit and certainly not under these circumstances. It was likely that she still didn't seem him as anything but a target that she'd try to take down soon enough.

He watched Natasha as she pulled an open book from the nightstand near her side of the mattress. The archer half grinned as she chuckled, probably at him. He figured that she could read him like a book, seeing that he still wanted her. Maybe this was all just a game for her, even with him. He nodded, turning over onto his back with a soft groan as he settled into the dusty pillow beneath him. Within a matter over moments he had fallen asleep, he could sleep pretty much anywhere given the chance.

His arm tossed over his face and his right leg entangled in the sheets; Barton's chest rose and fall rythmically as he slept. After a more than the few hours Natasha had promised, he stirred. His eyes fluttered open, wiping the drool from his bottom lip and the sleep from his eyes, forgetting for a moment where he was and who he was with as he glanced around the room The redhead was sitting in the chair beside him, "I thought you were gonna wake me in a few hours?" He half scolded, not liking that she made the choice to stay up longer than she should have.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, realizing he was still rather exposed and moving to redress himself. "How's the leg?" He asked, turning to face her, clearing his raspy throat. Clint nodded as she grinned over at him, telling him she would live. "Well good. Go to bed." He stated firmly, giving a little chuckle as he stood and snatched the book from her hands, giving her a look not to argue. He nodded his head to the bed, encouraging her to go crash.

The marksman tossed the book back on the nightstand, looking out the window. The night was clear for the most part, which didn't make him relax. Things could still go bad.

Clint let Natasha sleep a few hours before waking her and taking a couple more for himself. When the redhead woke the next morning, he had already gone down to get more water and riffled through the rest of the drawers and cupboards in the kitchen. He didn't find all that much, a canister for water, some oatmeal, crackers and a few other foods that they could take with them as well as a hunting knife he discovered outside. There wasn't a ton but it was enough for them to make it to Swindon at least. He was down stairs putting together a duffle of provisions and what little survival gear they had when Natasha came gracefully down the steps. His mouth was running dry, watching her and recalling their events from last night. He swallowed, trying to find the courage to speak to her but he stammered a little and only managed a smile.

"Mornin'..." He supposed that was a good start at least. She hardly even turned to look at him at first and he wondered if she was recalling the same things that he was and if she was wanting him again as much as he wanted her. He had to remind himself who she was, that she was trained to break men, even men like him. He wasn't immune to her. "There's a granola bar on the counter and some water for you. They're nasty as shit but it's not like we can be picky right now." 

Natasha felt like a childish fool. She finally had to make herself get out of the bed, because the temptation to reach out and touch the man sleeping next to her was getting too strong to resist. She limped over to the chair by the bed and kept reading, letting the archer sleep a bit longer since she had been conditioned by the Room to run on very little sleep. He likely needed it more than she did.

When he woke on his own a little past 2 am he scolded her for letting him rest, but she brushed it off without a thought. When he asked about her leg she smiled slightly. "Hurts. But I'll survive." She responded as she stood up to retreat to the bed again now that he was out of it. She fell asleep almost immediately, soothed by the scent of her partner on the sheets. 

Morning came all too soon, but the spy did feel a lot more refreshed than she had since coming to this godforsaken rock in the ocean. She dressed and went downstairs to discover Barton had already assembled any supplies of value they could carry with them and even had something out for her to eat. She nodded gratefully and downed her water, opening the stale granola bar and sniffing it delicately. She wrinkled her nose at it but ate it anyway, it wasn't like they had any other options.

The pair of assassins got ready to go in silence, but the vibe between them was different than it had been yesterday. It was much more relaxed, and Natasha who would usually choose being stabbed in the eye over working with a partner found she liked having him there to pick up the slack. They went out the back of the farmhouse, taking a last look then turning towards the road. 

Barton started walking, but Natasha lingered behind, eyeing the decrepit barn across the property. "Hey Cupid," She called after him, "Did you check the barn for supplies?" She pointed at the structure when he turned back at the sound of her voice. 

Clint continued packing, laughing lightly as he glanced up and caught the redhead out of the corner of his eye, sniffing the crummy granola bar. The air between them both was certainly filled with far less tension than the day before. He could only hope that it would stay that way.

When they finished packing all they could carry and Natasha ate her tiny breakfast, they headed out the back door of the farm house. The archer didn't even bother looking back, his mission was still in progress and that mission was to put an end to anyone and everyone that had anything to do with this experiment. Well... almost everyone.

His stride stopped when Natasha hollared to him, turning around and seeing the battered old wooden barn a little ways away. He shook his head, "No... hadn't even crossed my mind." He commented with a shrug, furrowing his brow and pondering if it was worth the time or energy to even rummage through the beat to shit shack. "I doubt there's much of anything in there of use to us... 'cept maybe tools or something." He sighed as she pointed out that they might be sorry to find out there was anything and everything they could desire at a time like this. Readjusting the bag on his shoulder, he heading off the beaten path into the over grown yellowed fields. Clint slowed his stride so his companion could keep up with him.

He made it to the large wide wooden door, dropping the duffle from his back into the ground beside them and propping it against the wall. The marksman forced open the door which cracked and creeked as though it'd been decades since someone had been inside, though when they entered, it didn't appear so. There were old tractors and lawn mowers, dozens of half finished projects, from engines to an old cherry red bicycle propped on the table. That told Clint the gentleman who lived here might have been a handy man of sorts or at least enjoy a good restoration project or two. "Geez... Looks like our friends had a side business going or something." He pointed out, spinning the wheel of the bicycle and running his hands over the table.

Clint liked to build things, to work with his hands. He wasn't sure why but he did, though he hardly found the time with his line of work. Natasha was busy looking at the wall of tools, probably searching for anything that might come of use, when the archer stumbled upon something towards the back of the barn. He took a fist full of the dusty yellowed fabric, tugging it off to reveal whatever it was. "Hey Red! Come here." He yelled to her, his eyes lighting up as he smiled down at his discovery.

"Think I found us a ride." he stated when she joined him, grinning proudly over at her. Beneath the cover ly an old Harley, who knew how old it was but by the looks of it, Clint would guess maybe 50's or 60's. It certainly looked like it had some mileage on it, the paint was chipped and faded and the seat was warn but it fit two and it was still a gorgeous bike despite the fact that it'd seen better days. "Wonder if it runs." He muttered. 

Natasha meandered to the back of the barn from the wall of tools she'd been inspecting when Clint called her. There were all manner of mechanical carcasses in various states of repair in here, and more tools than a typical country farmer would have. The previous owner must have been something of a machinist, or mad scientist, or a bit of both. Her eyes widened with surprise at the sight of the bike, a little lance of pain from her wound serving to highlight just what a lucky find this was. If it would run. If it weren't for bad luck the spy would have no luck at all.

She eyed the motorcycle, it was in excellent condition considering it's vintage. "I think it's definitely worth finding out. Glad we checked out the place now?" She said with a little half grin, circling around him and swinging her bad leg over the bike to straddle it when she saw that the keys had conveniently been left in the ignition. Natasha tried once, twice, three times to coax the vehicle to life, but after a few promising stutters the engine went silent every time. 

A Russian curse escaped her lips and she hoisted herself off the thing. She checked and it had plenty of fuel, so there was something else wrong. The redhead looked from the bike to her companion, arching her scarlet eyebrows inquisitively.

"If this thing had software I could hack it. If it had a lock I could pick it. But I'm afraid I lack the skills to repair it. You any good with engines Cupid? If you are, I think taking the time to try and get it running would be worth it." She asked, no trace of chagrin in her voice but she already felt the disappointment sinking in. If he couldn't get this thing running, it was back to walking to Swindon and her leg hurt just thinking about it. 

Clint nodded his head slightly in agreement that it was worth seeing if the bike started or not. He rolled his eyes at her question but still a grin tugged at his lips. "Yea, yea. All the credit to you for that one..." he muttered, wishing that it had been his idea to check the barn. He hadn't even thought that there might be another source of transportation holed up inside.

He smiled fondly as Natasha climbed onto the seat of the bike, licking his lips a little unconsiously as she straddled the bike and made the attempt to start it up. Maybe Clint had a thing for girls and bikes, knowing they weren't afraid to get a little dirty, maybe it was simply because she was hot, either way he appreciated how she looked mounted on a Harley. He stepped around the bike, looking it over and distracting himself as he listened to the engine tick but the ignition wouldn't catch. He couldn't help the little chuckle that escaped his lips as she checked the fuel, there was a whole lot more to it than just being at of gas. He wished it was that simple.

"You're in luck..." The archer started, climbing around the front of the bike and kneeling down. "Just so happens I've got a knack for these kinds of things... Been awhile but I think I remember enough." The truth was, Clint had been dying for a project like this, he was more than happy for the opportunity to restore something as pretty as this little bike. "For all we know, the engine could be complete shot... From the looks of it, that might not be the only issue we've got." He rubbed his forehead, thinking it over, wondering if it was even worth trying. He wanted to get to Swindon as soon as possible and from the looks of it, by foot might be quicker but... at the same time, he couldn't help but think about being holed up in this farm house for a couple more days with Natasha. Which, he couldn't lie would be nice especially if they had more nights like the last.

"I can get it runnin' without a doubt." He was confident that he could finish the project the old farmer had started. "It just.... it's not gonna be easy. You up for camping here another night or two? Least it'll give you more time to rest up your leg. We can take her to Swindon and maybe even push it to London if we're lucky." He shrugged, he hoped she'd agree that this was probably their best bet then pushing her on her already injured leg. 

 

Natasha listened to the man's assessment, encouraged by the fact that he sounded confident he could get the bike running. She pursed her lips, weighing spending the extra time here against the time saved by having a ride into London. Finally she gave him a little nod, her eyes flicking over from the bike to his face.

"As long as the repairs only cost us a day or two, we're still coming out ahead time-wise. The trade off is worth it. The only issue I have left is supplies. Water isn't an issue but we don't have much in the way of food here to last us for a more extended stay." She didn't sound too worried as she spoke, wandering back over to the wall of tools near the front of the barn. She had noticed something interesting over there and had a hunch, she just hoped she was right.

The redhead grabbed a flashlight off the worktable and clicked the button, grinning when it flared to life. "Cupid, can I borrow you for a sec?" She tossed her head at him, indicating a spot on the floor beside the table with her flashlight. The archer approached with a curious look on his face and she gestured at the padlocked door built into the ground of the barn. She stepped over to the wall and grabbed a heavy pair of bolt cutters, handing the tool to him.

He knelt and used the cutters to snap the old iron lock off the door, then hefted it up with a grunt of effort and a cloud of dirt. As Natasha hoped, the trapdoor revealed a dilapidated dug in stairway, and she descended down into the cellar holding her flashlight out before her.

Natasha couldn't help the satisfied little chuckle that bubbled out of her as she shined her light all around the room. She wished she could send the farmer's wife who had lived her a gift basket.

The woman had been a very prolific canner, it seemed. Shelves filled with bottled fruits and vegetables almost as tall as the redhead herself lined the small cellar. Natasha grabbed a jar of spiced peaches off the shelf and made her way back up into the light, brushing a bit of cobweb off her face as she gingerly climbed back up the stairs. She tossed the bottle to her partner and grinned.

"I think this is gonna work out just fine." She said as she crossed the space between then and walked past the archer, bending to grab the duffle bag he'd discarded by the door. "Why don't you get started while I put some of this together for us and we can have a real breakfast." She took the bag down with her into the cellar again to use it to tote up more supplies. 

Clint turned to face her as she spoke, nodding his head lightly as he straightened out again. He rubbed the sandy scruff along his jawline, thinking it over; they didn't have much supplies to last them through but maybe a day and a half if they were smart about it, though with the work he'd be doing, he'd probably be sweating off more calories than he could feed himself.

The archer watched Natasha as she stepped away, looking curiously over the tools and wandering towards the back of the barn. He followed when she asked for him, looking her over and wondering what she needed him for. He quirked a brow questioningly, following the beam of her flashlight with his eyes and tooking the tool from her without asking what she was up to, he knew she must have suspected that there was something worth checking the cellar for. She'd been right about the barn so he supposed he should go along with it, cutting off the lock and tugging the heavy old trapdoor open for her.

The redhead headed down the dirt steps and within moments she came back up the stairs, tossing him a jar of peaches. Clint examined it with a please grin smacked across his face, "Gotta give you credit, Red... The barn was a good hunt." He muttered with a soft chuckle. He nodded once, his stomach rumbling at the mere mention of having something semi decent to eat. It hadn't been all that long but he certainly felt that his granola bar hadn't lasted him as long as he had been hoping it might.

Natasha went back into the cellar to grab some more of her latest discovery, it was like the holy grail for them right now, first the bike and now the excess canned goods. Clint wandered back to the bike, wheeling it closer to the entrance of the barn so he had enough sunlight to work but could still have all the pleasures of being in the shade of the old building. He tore off his flak vest and removed his heavy utility belt that held his Glock as well as his extra rounds, starting his work on the dusty old motorcycle. He smiled to himself, exhaling slowly and stepping to the work bench to retrieve an old red metal tool box. He immediately started tearing the bike apart on his hunt for the problem, breaking it down to it's barest bits as Natasha went inside to make them breakfast. 

 

Natasha filled her bag with an assortment of canned and dried goods and went back up to the farmhouse, sorting out her treasures and finding a pot. She cooked up some oatmeal some dried strawberries and cut up canned apricots, using some of the syrup from the apricot bottle to sweeten it. She hadn't had a real, solid meal for several days so even this simple fare was making her mouth water as she cooked it.

She planned out and organized their meals for a period of two days, wanting to take full advantage of what they had found here while it lasted. Natasha carried out a steamy bowl of the oatmeal out to Clint who was already elbow deep in dismantling the bike, engine parts and tools strewn all about his work space.

He was very absorbed in what he was doing, and Natasha simply stood and watched him work for a moment before disturbing him. He hadn't been blowing smoke when he said he could fix it, it was obvious he knew his way around an engine and worked with his hands often. She liked the way his sharp gray eyes took in every detail of the engine, analyzing, planning, breaking it down as he went. It was like a puzzle and he had all the pieces, it was just a matter of putting them together again.

His hands were covered with oil and grime, and when he used the back of his hand to wipe his forehead he left a smudge behind. Natasha chuckled lightly at that, getting his attention with the sound.

"How's it look?" She asked as she stepped forward and handed him the bowl of oatmeal, her eyes flickering with amusement from his eyes to the mark on his brow.

 

Clint was entirely focused on his task, taking the engine apart practically to pieces. He was checking out the crank bearings, wiping the sweat from his brow with his greasy hand with a soft sigh. He hunched over the work bench but turned suddenly when hearing Natasha laugh; it was quiet but the first time that it sounded like she was genuinely amused by something.

He faced her, arching a brow at her but still he smiled when she came closer. The marksman took the bowl of oatmeal from her, "Thanks..." He shrugged at her question, leaning back against the table top covered in oil, parts and tools. "It's looking like work." He chuckled, taking a mouthful of the oatmeal she made for him. He made a pleased noise in his throat, entirely happy with what she'd created. He doubted that he would be normally, but given the lack of options, he couldn't really complain about it, something was better than nothing, and anything tasted better than that shitty bar he had earlier.

"Think it might be the rotor or the crank shaft..." He muttered, not entirely certain on what they should talk about as she stood there watching him still. Clint glanced from side to side, confused as to why she was simply staring at him with a smirk on her face. "What?... Could you not do that? It's..." He started to say but he wasn't sure if he wanted to finish with creepy or cute. She cut him off, pointing to her own forehead and making him look up, shugging his shoulders as she laughed at him again.

Natasha procceeded to tell him that he'd smeared black gunk across the entirety of his forehead and quickly Clint set his bowl aside, reaching his hand up and brushing over his head with the heel of his hand. "Is it gone?" He asked, hopeful that it would make her stop looking at him like that. She giggled again, indicating that he hadn't done much to fix the issue at hand, "Oh... Ha ha." he made a face, mocking her snickering, "I'm so glad I can be your source of entertainment, Red." He whined, grinning over at her, he found that he liked her laugh... her smile... she had a good smile, her teeth were bright white and stood out against her plump red lips. He mentally shook himself, clearing his head again. 

 

Natasha was trying to focus on what he was telling her but the big smear of grime across his forehead was extremely distracting. She couldn't help but laugh at his fluster, it seemed very out of character for him which only made his exasperation funnier. Finally he asked her why she was snickering and she pointed at her own forehead as she spoke.

"More of your forehead is covered with engine grime than not, Cupid." She told him around her mirth, laughing harder as he tried to wipe his brow off only to make it worse. She shook her head as he tried to wipe the dirt away again with his dirty hand and grabbed the canteen he'd found off his worktable, wetting an old shop rag with the cool water from the well and squeezing it gently.

She cupped the side of his head to keep him still, gently cleaning the grime from his forehead. Her blue eyes stayed focused on her task but she could feel his gaze on her as she worked and it made her breathing quicken. Natasha finished cleaning his face and stepped back quickly, a bit disturbed by the fact that just being in close proximity to the archer was enough to make her heart race. She was used to using her body and mannerisms to affect someone else, not being on the receiving end.

Natasha backpedaled a few more steps and sat herself on a stack of old wooden pallets, clearing her throat and taking a deep breath to collect herself. She looked down at his vest and gear he'd discarded by the door, grasping for a way to diffuse the sudden tension that had developed between them.

"So... A bow and arrow, huh? I suppose it's quieter than a gun for hunting biters, but... Seems a tad... Old fashioned." She commented with a crooked grin. She hoped she wouldn't distract him from his work by talking to him, but she imagined if she did he would tell her so. He'd been only candid with her thus far. Natasha was typically solitary to a fault, but for some reason she felt more like staying here watching him work than going back up to the house. What else was she going to do, snoop through the closets of old British farmers? Clean her weapons that were already spotless? She hoped he didn't mind the company of someone that was technically on his hit list. 

 

Clint was being stupid, letting some random target of his get him flustered like this. She didn't matter, none of them did... none of this did and he would need to remind himself that every so often if he couldn't stay focused on his assignment. She was a distraction.

He tried to clean the smudge from his head but still she laughed, stopping him suddenly and taking his head in her hand and holding him steady so she could wash away the grime on his forehead with the damp cloth. His heart pounded a little harder than usual, his pulse quickening beneath her touch as he stared back at her again, distracted by her creamy skin, remembering faintly the way it felt beneath his lips. He straightened out instantly when she finished and backed away from him.

Still the archer kept his silver gaze trained on her for a moment longer, half smirking knowing that he'd clearly made her anxious and flustered too. He turned his attention back to the engine before him, cleaning up the gears. The redhead was the first to break the silence and he didn't really mind if she chose to stay and watch or not. "Yep." He responded quickly, squinting his eyes a little in concentraction and stepping away for a brief second to look for a wrench as she continued on.

When he made the few short strides back, he chuckled, shaking his head lightly. "Old fashioned?" He scoffed in his throat, "You're not the first to have doubts about the bow. Probably ain't gonna be the last. You'll change your mind; they all do." He smiled to himself, Clint was well versed in archer, you could say he had a knack for it, or rather an insane ability to hit any target no matter how small or how fast. He never missed. He couldn't miss. 

Natasha arched her scarlet brows at his words. He talked as though the bow had always been his preferred weapon of choice, not something improvised for hunting the mindless zombies roaming the English countryside. He was certainly an interesting smart ass, she had to grant him that.

"Is that so." She said absently, picturing how he might look drawing the compound bow at her feet. It wasn't an unappealing image. Natasha shrugged, "I'm sure you'll get plenty of chances to show me what you've got Cupid. I'm sure there are gonna be a lot of biters between us and London. But I'll be putting a bullet between the eyes of each of those Red Room bastards holed up there, make no mistake about that." The redhead's voice darkened as she contemplated the task ahead of them. She might be glad of Barton's help to get to London, but she would take out the ones responsible for this. The ones who had done such unspeakable things to her and told her she ought to be honored to be chosen to 'help their cause.'

 

Clint smiled smuggley, he knew just what he could do with a bow and how quickly and easily he could work. He could take down hundreds of biters in less than a few seconds flat, of course that was only if he had enough ammo to take on such a task. "That's for sure." he commented in response to her talking about there being many chances to see him work his bow.

He watched her expression changing in his periferrals as she spoke about the Red Room guys again. She had questions for him, the least he could do was return the favor in a sense. Clint looked up, "So you've got beef with these guys?" He started, testing the waters a little. He knew she was wound pretty tight, it wasn't likely she would easily open up to anyone, especially not a stranger like him. "Tell me again... what was it that had you change your mind about 'em? From what I've read... it's not like you're new at the whole being destructive thing. They musta done some pretty shit things to you, to make you wanna back out..." 

 

A dry chuckle entirely devoid of her mirth from earlier escaped her lips at his choice of words, "Change my mind? Is that what I did? I suppose breaking free of mind control counts as changing one's mind. In a very literal sense." Natasha drifted from the here and now back to her first days with the Red Room, her skin crawling as she recalled her 're-education' at their hands. When she spoke again it was quiet and far away, almost as if she forgot she was speaking aloud.

"I was their tool. Their weapon, one of the best. It's easy not to question, not to let yourself see the bigger picture. But sometimes... The curtain gets drawn back whether you like it or not. And if they get a sniff that you might be thinking for yourself, well..." Natasha wrapped her arms around herself unconsciously, suddenly feeling a chill despite the warmth of the summer mid-morning.

Her eyes refocused on the present and she fixed him with an intense look. "You've seen for yourself that I'm immune." She glanced down at her wounded leg and back up at him, "No doubt SHIELD knows that the higher ups of the Room haven't fallen to their own disease. The two facts are inextricably linked." The spy bit her full lower lip, trying to keep a lid on the anger that suddenly welled up in her.

"I was starting to become difficult to manage, so I was 'hand-selected' for the 'honor' of helping the Room with their greatest endeavor yet. Essentially I became their lab rat. Once they got the immunity perfected in me, they all took it for themselves so their control serum couldn't be used against them. Paranoid bastards. But obviously they needed the insurance considering how their plan went completely to shit." She continued darkly, suddenly unable to keep still and standing up.

"I'm just gonna... Go make sure we've got everything we need for the trip to Swindon in order." Natasha said uneasily, seeming to realize all the sudden everything she had told this total stranger. She had already rationed out their food and packed what they needed, but she needed to get away from this man and his uncanny ability to loosen her tongue and dredge up her past. She left the barn as quickly as possible, trying not to limp but still her gait was a little unsteady as she retreated to the farmhouse.

Clint fidgeted, not really feeling all that sorry for his choice of words. He'd only know to a certain extent of what she did, knew that she was one of the Red Rooms prized play things and that she had probably the same amount of blood on her hands as he did, only he didn't kill for the hell of it or to get what he wanted, he took down those who needed to be stopped, guys like Natasha's boss who were harming the innocent.

He swallowed hard as she continued, avoiding making eye contact with her, though he hadn't missed her hugging herself in comfort. Part of him wanted to just ignore her and make himself believe this was all just an act but the other part of him that had knew it wasn't, wanted to reach out to her, wrap his own strong arms around her and keep them from coming back. But she wasn't his to protect. That wasn't part of his job. She wasn't one of the innocent lives he'd been assigned to save.

It struck him hard when she talked about being the Red Room's latest little lab rat, the one to try out the new serums. He couldn't help but wonder though, if they still had a hold on her in some ways. Natasha started shifting her weight, avoiding his gaze and made up an excuse to leave. The archer couldn't decide if he should chase her or let her hobble off. "Natasha..." He muttered, starting to follow her. He hadn't called her Red for the first time since they met and even when it fell from his lips it felt good. He thought maybe the use of her first name would halt her advance towards the house but it hadn't, she pretended not to hear him. He pondered her words, curious to know more of what she'd been through, her story, her history and the pain she'd been forced to go through, not to rub it in but to let her open up. If it could be anyone, he was glad it was him. From what he could tell, it wasn't worth fighting her to make her talk. He had to earn her trust completely, he assumed.

Clint sighed and set his wrench down on the work bench after awhile, deciding that it was time for a much deserved break. He made sure to take his belt and bow with him, his protection, which he no longer felt was needed against the redhead. She didn't want to kill him; From what he could see, she wanted to make things right for her again and slitting his throat wouldn't be the greatest start to that. He sped walked back to the farm house, leaving his mess behind to go find Natasha inside. 

Natasha set out a few bottles of canned fruit and vegetables, a little bit of an odd assortment but still far better than nothing. She set out some of the dry packed rice she'd found to cook later that evening, much like their breakfast that morning it was plain, but at least it was filling. She wasn't sure when Clint would come in from working on the bike but she was absolutely done hanging around him trying to fill the time with idle conversation. Not when that resulted in her airing out all her secrets with little to no prompting from him. She was a professional dammit, she didn't run her mouth like that. 

She didn't understand what why she had told him all that, he was simply another element that had been introduced into her plan of destroying every last Red Room bastard she could find in this country. A useful ally until he gave her a reason to file him in the 'target' category again. She didn't owe him any explanations.

The spy spent the afternoon going through every room in the house, finding sad little mementos of the couple that had spent so much of their lives in this quaint little home. She found the diary the wife, her name was Lorna she discovered and read it, fascinated and jealous in a way by the woman's provincial life.

Late in the afternoon Natasha heard the backdoor open from her spot on the green couch in the living room, and though she was fairly certain it was Barton still her hand immediately went to her gun at her hip. She glanced up and nodded at the archer as he crossed the open doorway separating the two rooms to snatch a dishtowel off a hook over the stove and pat the sweat and dirt from his face and neck.

Natasha got up leaving the diary behind and went into the kitchen. "I found some rice, I'll start cooking that for dinner if you want to get cleaned up a bit." She said absently, trying not to make eye contact with the man as she moved around him in the small kitchen. She still felt foolish having opened up so much to him earlier, though as far as she knew he could care less about her past. She was still technically on his hit list after all.

Clint left his work behind and finally made his way back up to the farm house, pushing opened the backdoor and stepping inside. He was sweaty from the days work, covered in a fair mix of grease and dirt from the outdoors as he walked in to find Natasha. She was propped on the couch and immediately her hand shot to the gun on her hip. He raised his hands open and showing her it was just him. “Only me.” He called, closing the door behind him and locking it on reflex.

He moved further into the kitchen, seeing her nod as he reached for the dish towel on the hook over the stove. He wiped himself down as best he could with as little as he had available at the moment. He sighed, though he was inside now it didn’t feel much better than the outdoor air, just a tad less humid but still just as warm

He could feel the tension in the air between himself and his companion, opting not to say much to her for the time being. That was until he heard her get up from her spot, tossing aside the diary and padding into the kitchen through the doorway. She avoided his eyes as she moved around him, telling him to go get cleaned up if he wanted while she started on something for dinner. “You don’t want my help?” He questioned for confirmation and she dug through one of the cabinets for a pot to cook the rice in, shaking her head and telling him no without facing him full on.

She made her claim that with hands like that she didn’t want him anywhere near food at the moment. He nodded his understanding but still lingered in the small kitchen space, watching her move. He had got to her, in a way he wasn’t so sure he entirely meant to and he felt sorry for the way he questioned her. “Red, y’know I didn’t mean anythin’ by askin’ about it.” He told her, he was merely curious as to how on earth she could have a sudden turn around like she claimed that she did. “And I didn’t—I didn’t know that they used you for experimenting like that.” He muttered.

It was Clint’s best attempt at making amends with her for the time being, they didn’t have many other options in this world they resided right now. “Doesn’t matter what you did anymore.” He stated, taking the rag with him and giving her a faint grin as he stepped back out of the kitchen. Maybe it hadn’t been his place to ask or pry into that part of her life or maybe he wasn’t careful with his words, either way he was chiding himself for it at the moment. “Gonna go pretend t’ shower.” He chuckled, considering the only way to shower was to dump water on yourself or run a rag over his body, waving the rag at her and leaving. He thought as he walked of the night before, how they spent it cleaning the other off before things took another turn.

 

Natasha kept her back to him, listening to him speak as she moved stiffly about getting things ready to cook their evening meal. He finally retreated and she glanced over her shoulder at him just as left to shower, nodding slightly and turning back to her work after he was gone. She fumbled with her cooking pot and set it down on the counter harder than necessary, anger and shame whirling around inside her.

It was her own damn fault really, running her mouth like she had. Maybe he was out of line asking her probing questions, they were technically enemies after all, but she could have made up any number of colorful stories to feed him. She was a master of deception and manipulation, and yet... Natasha had simply given him a dose of the truth. The plain, awful truth. God she could use a stiff drink about now.

By the time Clint came back down relatively clean in a faded old plaid shirt and jeans that were too large so they barely stayed on his hips, she had gotten their food ready and managed to regain some of her composure. The SHIELD agent plopped down on the green couch and she brought him a plate of canned veggies and rice, plain but solid fare. He accepted it gratefully and she nodded, going back into the kitchen to eat her own food standing over the sink. She felt foolish, behaving like a sulking child child but she just wasn't up for fielding more questions or pity or trying to dance around the fact that against her will or not she was indirectly responsible for the hell this world had become.

The silence felt like a lead weight bearing down on her delicate shoulders, and she couldn't keep her mind from running circles, pain, grief and anger boiling over and finally she couldn't hold back the tears. She tried her best to cry silently, keeping her shoulders from shaking too much but in the quiet of the farmhouse she knew he could hear her weeping in the other room. She only hoped he would leave her be until she could pull herself together again, freeze over what he had unexpectedly thawed inside her in order to survive.

Several moments passed and she heard his footfalls approaching, Natasha did her best to take deep breaths and regain control but when she squeezed her eyes shut more tears gushed down her face. Clint came to stand just behind her, she could feel his warmth against her back. He gripped her upper arm and started to speak an apology which she coldly cut off.

"Don't." She said in a clipped tone, trying to tug out of his grasp but he gripped her more tightly, boxing her in with his body against the counter. He spoke again, his breath rustling her fiery hair and the rumble of his chest against her sending shivers through her smaller frame. He apologized for what she'd been through, telling her it wasn't her fault, all the terrible things that had happened.

"What would know about it? And what the hell do you care anyway?" She snapped, jolting out of his grip and turning in the tight space to face him, trying to focus on her anger with him but it was a crumbling wall at best. Tears were still slipping traitorously down her flushed face and Clint cocked his head at her, clearly not prepared to see her falling apart like this. His gunmetal eyes softened with sympathy and he rose one hand to gently cup her tear-stained cheek. He told her in a voice just above a whisper that he knew how it felt to be used, that he understood at least in part how she felt and promised her that no matter what their pasts, he would be on her side.

Her blue eyes flickered between his silver ones, her heart racing like mad against her ribcage. "You can't make a promise like that, you have orders to-" She started, but he cut her off in turn by sealing his mouth to hers. He kissed her softly at first, but it quickly boiled over into something ravenous, his other hand sweeping up her back to tangle into her hair at the nape of her neck. Natasha moaned into his mouth as he pressed her more firmly against the counter, their hips canted together and she shivered at the feeling of his arousal pressing against her. She matched the passion of his kiss, her body coming alive with desire that was quickly burning away the anger and sorrow filling her to the brim.

Clint left Natasha to her thoughts, deciding it best to go and clean up as much as he could before they ate. He rinsed off his body with the rag they had upstairs from the night before. He rid himself of as much dirt and grime that he could see and reach before stopping at the gentle sound he heard. He could have sworn that he heard Natasha crying in the other room, it was quiet but loud enough to be heard from where he was. He dressed himself quickly, with whatever clothes that he could find before heading back into the kitchen.

Natasha was facing away from him, hardly making the attempt to cook and he couldn’t blame her really in the mental state she had found herself in. He inched up behind her and gripped her bicep, muttering the start of a ‘Sorry’ but barely getting the first letter out before she cut him off quickly. She pulled her arm back but he didn’t let up on his grip at all, standing close up behind her. “I’m sorry, Natasha—For everythin’ that you’ve been through. None of this is on you. They used you, Nat I get it and I know you blame yourself but all this chaos all this hell would’ve happened one time or another whether they had you or not. It’s not your fault.” He promised and she snapped back at him, questioning what he knew about it and why he even gave two shits.

The archer reached out, cupping her cheek in his large calloused hand, clearing the tears beneath one eye as he spoke to her. “I know what it’s like to be a pawn in the Devil’s chess game and it’s not fun. It eats at you. I get it to a certain extent, my past isn’t so great either but no matter what, I’m always gonna be on your side, Red.” He vowed, meeting her gaze as he pushed her back a little towards the counter. She took an involuntary step and she started up with an argument to which Clint silenced with his mouth on hers.

The kiss was soft at first but within a matter of seconds it quickly turned into something more heated, ravishing her mouth and muffling her moans, his hand in her flowing red locks as they kissed. He pushed her back until she collided with the counter, his arousal pressing against her. She finally kissed him back, her mouth falling open to his and he took her invitation, a battle against tongues, sliding along the roof of her mouth as they kissed hungrily. Her cheeks were still damp with tears but her sobbing subsided almost immediately when he kissed her.

Her hands reached up and she gripped his face, biting and tugging at his lower lip, the eagerness and desire behind her kisses was something completely different than the previous night, not simple want but also that longing to have his affection. His promise to her, whether he could make it true or not clearly struck a cord with her.

Clint’s hands snaked down her sides and over her hips, gripping her shirt at the hem and tugging it over her head and she made no objections to his advance, reaching around he flicked open the hook of her bra, pulling away from her to gently coax the fabric off her body and down her arms. He hunched, pressing his forehead to hers, his eyes dark with lust as he looked at her, gaze flickering to her fully exposed breasts. His hands found her chest, admiring her bare upper half, cupping and fondling her as she arched into his touch. He cocked his head and dropped down to kiss her neck and collarbone and within seconds she had worked opened the buttons of his plaid shirt. He chuckled lightly hardly having felt her do such a task until she was making the attempt at pushing the flannel shirt from off his broad shoulders, her nails digging into his back.

The marksman smiled and shifted to shimmy out of the borrowed button down, letting it fall to the ground with her own garments. Their lips met again, his arms snaking around her petite frame, pinning her to him and lifting her up easily onto the counter. She squeaked out of surprise and he chuckled as he dropped her down onto the tiled top, his fingers making quick work of the belt she was wearing, smoothly easing it from around her waist and pushing the gun she had aside, unfastening the jeans she wore. “Lift your hips, sweetheart.” He prompted gently, his breathing heavy and ragged as she did as he asked, gripping his neck and trying to keep the contact of their lips desperately while he tugged down her bottoms, breaking away only slightly to work the fabric over her thighs and completely off her body, discarding those as well, leaving her bare and at his mercy.

Natasha pulled on his belt loops and pleaded with him quietly to give in to what he wanted and he hushed her. He would soon enough but for now he had a mind to enjoy making her fall to pieces at his touch. Her hand found his front and he groaned suddenly as she stroked him through his ill-fitting jeans. It didn’t take a whole lot of effort even with him gripping her wrist to halt her she managed to push the baggy pants off his hips rather easily. He tugged her to the edge of the counter and kissed her once more, his hand ghosting over her thigh, finding her core and teasing her clit with his thumb, hearing her gasp as she broke their kiss, arching into his hand, clearly a little more sensitive than she might have been.

Clint smirked, mouth hanging opened and his hips rocked forward while he teased her, imaging himself inside her like before. He adjusted his hand and dipped his middle and ring finger into her soaked center, stroking her walls and getting harder from the sounds she was making as she clung to him.

She knew, somewhere in the back of her mind, that it was ridiculous of her to give any credence to what he told her. But his words were water and she was dying of thirst, never before in all her dark history had she had anyone truly on her side. Her colleagues might have given her back up from time to time but only because she was a valuable tool, not because they cared at all for her personally in any way. 

She didn't have much leftover headspace to dwell on the validity of his sentiment however, because the things his hand and mouth were doing to her were deliciously distracting. Everything that wasn't his warm lips, heated skin or clever hands faded into the background and Natasha gasped brokenly as his touch ignited a fire under her skin that only he could quench. She arched into his touch, bracing against his solid frame and losing herself to how good his fingers felt stroking her slick walls and teasing her swollen clit.

"God, Clint... Harder, ahh!" Natasha moaned, her body trembling as the archer drove his fingers into her with more force and ground the heel of his hand against her clit. The redhead's shallow breathing was punctuated with clipped little groans of pleasure, rising in pitch and frequency as he pushed her closer to her peak. His lips found her throat and she cried out as he sank his teeth into her flesh, coming on his hand, her nectar soaking his knobby digits.

The archer withdrew his hand from her center and she caught him by his wrist, slowly drawing his fingers to her lips. She took his fingers into her mouth one at a time, sucking her sweetness from his skin and making him growl as he watched, likely imagining her ruby lips wrapped around something else entirely. Natasha's body was awash with the high of her orgasm and so when she wrapped her legs around his hips, her injured limb didn't so much as cause a blip on her radar.

Her hand slipped between them and she stroked his length, purring at how hard he was for her. He twitched and rocked his hips into her touch, she could feel the corded muscles of his back bunching under his tight tan skin against her calves. Natasha tipped her head back and met his molten silver gaze, guiding his tip along her slick folds, tempting them both further. "Is this what you want? Tell me..." She hummed, smiling seductively at his heated affirmative response.

She guided his throbbing shaft into her body as he surged forward, connecting their bodies making them moan in tandem. Natasha hissed as Clint buried himself to the hilt within her, filling her up both physically and whether she wanted to accept it or not, emotionally as well. This time was different from last night, it was less about desperation and more about reassurance. When Clint met her gaze as he moved inside her, there was lust of course but there was also affection. It thrilled and terrified her to see such things in his eyes, so she leaned up and kissed him hard and deep, giving herself an out to break eye contact with him.

The archer's strong hands gripped her thighs and he thrust into her rhythmically, stoking the embers of desire inside her back to a full flame. They broke apart for breath and Clint murmured her name, telling her she felt good and asking her what she needed from him. Natasha wasn't used to this sort of treatment, last night he had made sure she wanted him before taking her, and now he was speaking sweet words to her, wiping away her tears, asking her how he could make her happy.... It was more than she could process.

The redhead backpedaled internally, falling on her old habits to protect herself from the strange whirlwind of emotions this man was evoking in her. She grinned wickedly and gripped him tightly at the waist and around his neck, lifting herself off the counter to cling to him entirely for support. "Take me to that couch Barton, I want to ride you into the night 'cycle boy." She teased, not forgetting how he'd eyed her when she straddled the Harley earlier that day.

Clint chuckled and adjusted his grip on her, carrying easily in his strong arms back into the living room keeping their bodies merged. Natasha ground her hips into his as he walked, making him gasp and growl as her walls flexed and clenched around him. He sat heavily down onto the couch, driving deeper into her making her curse in Russian as she saw stars when he hit her in just the right spot. The petite redhead braced herself against his broad chest and started pumping up and down on his throbbing length, her nails digging little crescent moons into his shoulders as she rode him.

Her second climax was coiling in the pit of her belly and Natasha was determined to drown both of them in physical sensation, mostly to distract herself from the troublesome way her heart was trying to get her to acknowledge why this time felt so much better to her than yesterday. The spy craned her head down to nibble and kiss Clint's flesh, her teeth wandering up his throat to tug his earlobe with just enough pressure to make him flinch.

The agent reacted to her ministrations just how she'd hoped, gripping her hips tight and driving her more forcefully onto him, hitting her deep and hard and making all coherent thoughts run out of her like water. She matched his movements and their cries got louder and harsher as they neared their release, their world reduced to taste and touch and the fire burning between them.

Natasha's eyes flew open wide as her orgasm swept through her from head to toe, shaking and uttering a stream of profanities in half a dozen jumbled languages. She felt the hot burst of her archer following her over the edge and the sound and feel of him coming undone only heightened her own pleasure.


End file.
